Lift mcCahir Og your face 
 You're brooding over the old disgrace 
 That Black Fitzwilliam stormed your place and sent you to the ferns 
 Grey said victory was sure 
 Soon the firebrand he'd secured 
 Until he met at Glenmalure with Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne 
 Curse and swear Lord Kildare 
 Fiach will do what fiach will dare 
 Now Fitzwilliam have a care 
 Fallen is your star low 
 Up with halberd our with sword 
 On we go for by the Lord 
 Fiach MacHugh has given the word 
 Follow me up to Carlow. 
 See the swords of Glen Imaal 
 Go flashing o'er the English pale 
 See all the children on the Gael beneath O'Byrne's banner 
 Rooster of the fighting stock 
 Would you let a saxon [bad word] 
 Crow out upon an Irish rock, fly up and teach him manners 
 From Teach Sagard to Clonmore 
 There flows a stream of Saxon gore 
 And great is Rory Og O'More at sending the loons to hades 
 White is sick and Grey has fled 
 Now for Black Fitzwilliam's head 
 We'll send it over dripping red to Liza and her ladies